


i looked just like everyone else

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: Love and Other Fairytales [8]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Drunk Kissing, Dubcon i guess?, M/M, Making out as a shitty coping mechanism, Other Sharp And Pointy Things, SO, Skin Picking (Mentioned), Swearing, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, needles mention, no healthy communication we die like repressed morons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 14:54:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17920961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: Things seem simple when you’re a kid. Rescue the prince, slay the monster, save the day. Happy ever after.Reality is rarely so straightforward.





	i looked just like everyone else

**Author's Note:**

> can yall believe it took me 40000 words to get to the actual plot get on my level
> 
> the title is from Manic Pixie Dream Girl by Olivia Gatwood

_March, 4 years later_

The worst part of being known as a flirt, thought Roman, was that everyone thought it was synonymous with “easy.”

“C’mon, just one kiss?”

“If that’s actually the price of the drain cleaner you call moonshine, I’d be happy to drink something else,” said Roman sweetly, “Like actual drain cleaner,”

Remy Adams clutched his chest.

“Harsh, babe,”

“Don’t call me babe,” said Roman. “You can take the fifteen dollars or you can keep your swill, you cad,”

“You’re breakin’ my heart, Gage,” said Remy, grinning as he passed Roman the mason jar and took the money.

“It’s what I do best,” said Roman, and really he should be commended for his acting skills – he didn’t sound bitter in the slightest.

The moonshine really did smell like cleaner – the fact that Remy had dressed it up with cinnamon and apples made it only marginally more palatable. But it was booze, and it was a party, and he’d payed fifteen bucks for it, so Roman wasn’t going to complain.

Logan was sitting on a log next to Kai, nodding occasionally in that absent way Roman knew meant he was only paying the barest amount of attention. Roman decided to insert himself into the conversation before Kai noticed.

But then Kai noticed  _him_  and started smirking.

“I saw that. Not on the hunt, heart-breaker?”

“Fuck off, Kai,”

“ _Roman, Roman, green of eye, kissed the boys and made them cry_ ,” he sang, because Kai was kind of an asshole sometimes.

“That song never gets old, truly,”

Roman sat on Logan’s other side, reaching out a hand and swiping a bit of the honey dripping down the side of Logan’s mason jar with his fingertip and bringing to his mouth.

“You have your own intoxicating beverage,” said Logan, voice flat.

“This is the fancy stuff; what’s the occasion?”

Logan rolled his eyes.

“Thomas purchased it at the farmer’s market this morning. He says the store-bought honey makes me snore and he would like to, quote, ‘actually get some sleep, please and thank you, just take the stupid honey, Berry,’”

“Sounds like him,”

“Of course it sounds like him, we have the same voice,”

Roman snorted and bumped Logan’s shoulder.

“Gross,” said Kai flatly, “I’m going to get a beer,”

“You are extremely intolerant to alcohol and incredibly prone to injury. That is a summarily foolish decision,”

“Oh, I’m sorry; I thought I was hanging out with Logan, not his  _mama_ , _”_

Logan turned bright red.

“A terrible insult, really,” Roman sniffed, “Mrs. Sanders is a delight. Don’t think I haven’t seen you hovering around her peach pie at potlucks,”

Kai rolled his eyes and moved towards the crowd, swallowed by the knot of people taller than him.

Roman glanced around. Kai could be grumpy, but at least he spoke to them. Everyone else was giving them a pretty wide berth.

Wickhills was such a small town, and at this party it really showed. If you wanted to even have enough people  _for_  a party, you pretty much had to invite everyone, even if you didn’t like them.

But even with everyone in the high school present, they still barely filled out the clearing in the woods behind Remy Adams house.

Well, almost everyone.

“When’s Patton going to be heeeeere,” Roman groaned.

Logan leaned over and looked into Roman’s mason jar.

“Stop drinking so quickly,” he admonished, “If you are already at the ‘petulant whining’ stage of your intoxication you are liable to lose consciousness when you stand,”

“And you need to drink  _more_  quickly,” said Roman, pushing Logan’s jar of cream and honey closer to his mouth, “I am going to get you to dance one of these days and if you have to be three sheets to the wind on raw honey than so be it,”

“Highly unlikely,” said Logan, but he obediently took a drink anyway.

Roman was beginning to feel very pleasantly tipsy, which is probably why he leaned over and buried his face in Logan’s shoulder.

Logan tensed up for a second, but then he relaxed, and Roman figured that if Logan really didn’t want him there, he’d never had a problem telling Roman to fuck off before.

“And to answer your question, Patton will be here whenever he is finished canning pickles with his mother,”

“Ugh,” grunted Roman, “I hate when he cans. He always smells like vinegar and weird spices after,”

Logan must have already had more honey than Roman thought, because he set his head on top of Roman’s. He only got cuddly when he was really far gone.

“I know,” he agreed, “And metal, as well, from the lids. It causes my nose to itch unpleasantly,”

As he spoke, he wrinkled his nose in a very not-Logan way and Roman couldn’t help but snort.

When he glanced back up, Logan was looking down at him, his expression equal parts fond and exasperated.

This was about the point where, in hindsight, Roman would be acutely,  _painfully_  aware of the reason he didn’t get drunk around his best friends.

_Fuck it,_  he thought, stupidly, before sliding his free hand into Logan’s hair and pulling him forward.

“There y’all are, I’ve been looking- oh,”

Roman jerked away from Logan – who was looking  _distinctly_  alarmed – and turned on Patton while plastering the flimsiest excuse of smile that ever did exist onto his face.

“Hey, Patton-cake!”

Patton was mirroring Roman’s plastic smile almost perfectly, and Roman felt like his stomach was filled with squirming, grounded fish.

“I can come back later,” said Patton brightly, and it was only because Roman knew him so well that he could tell Patton was barely holding back the crack in his voice. The hope that Patton hadn’t seen evaporated.

“Why would you need to come back later?” deflected Roman. Before Patton could answer, Roman made a show of looking down at his empty hands.

“You don’t have a drink?” he said quickly, shoving the jar of moonshine into Patton’s space. “Here, you can have mine, I’ll go get another,”

“Roman-” said Logan.

“Be right back!” Roman lied.

He bolted, because he was a coward and they all knew it.

What was he  _thinking_?

He knew better.

There were so many reasons kissing Logan would be a bad idea. Some of them petty, some of them not even a  _little_ , and all of them written in bright red ink on the inside of Roman’s eyelids.

The first and most important being the look on Patton’s face just now.

The second being the fact that it would be down right cruel to kiss someone he actually  _cared_  about when he knew damn well any kiss could be his last.

Remy, still sitting in the bed of the truck, in his leather jacket and sunglasses at night like some kind of jackass, definitely didn’t count.

Roman propped his arms up on the lowered door of the truck bed, leaning forward and tilting his head just so. Remy looked up, and Roman thought he might have caught him off guard. Remy’s face was uncharacteristically relaxed, and he almost looked like someone Roman could have a conversation with without wanting to strangle him. Roman’s heartbeat picked up in anticipation.

“Hey, Adams,” said Roman, smile slipping into something just as false but far more familiar. “Still want that kiss?”

Remy looked startled for a half a second, then grinned. He reached out to help Roman climb into the truck bed. Remy was insufferable, but at least he was a  _gentleman_.

“’Course I do, babe. Don’t know why you changed your mind, but I’m not complainin’”

“I just couldn’t stay away,” said Roman, sweetly sarcastic.

Remy actually snorted, which made Roman feel a bit less like he had a zip-tie around his heart. Roman cupped the other boy’s face and brought Remy’s laughing mouth to his own.

Remy was a good kisser, as they went.  His lips were soft – almost shockingly so – and the hand he drew through Roman’s hair was surprisingly tender. Roman closed his eyes, shutting off the part of his heart that was acutely aware of two sets of eyes on his back.

He drew Remy closer, and focused on nothing but the smoke and sharpness of cinnamon and moonshine on his lips.

* * *

Roman would honestly rather be dead than awake right now.

Mamaw, in a benevolent showing of boundless compassion, was banging on his bedroom door like she was trying to rouse every one of their dead ancestors at once.

“Giddup, ya goddam lush! I’m leaving for the grocery store in an hour and you’ll be in the car if I gotta drag ya out in yer pj’s,”

Roman groaned dramatically.

“Aw, poor baby,” she said through the door, with all the sympathy one might afford a tick.

“You are a soulless monster and I hate you,”

“Forsaken by my only heir; how’ll I ever recover?”

“Go awaaaaaaaaaaaay,” Roman whined.

“Fine,” she said loftily, “I’m sure Logan’d love to help me carry groceries if I called him, and you can just help ‘im put ‘em away when we get back.

Three seconds later, Roman opened his door, glaring.

“Hate. You,”

“Good morning to you, too,”

She patted him on the face, far more gently than she normally would have.

“Hate you  _so much_ ,”

“Ya got a hangover, not the plague. Time for big boy pants,”

The sun hated him. It felt like someone had taken a dozen straight pins and used his eyes as a pincushion. His coffee – made so dark he had to chew it, Mamaw’s preferred strength – tasted more like gasoline. So did the water bottle Mamaw continued to point vehemently at every minute – if he’d felt less like a walking corpse he might have timed her just to see how close she was to exactly sixty seconds.

The truck rattled to a stop in front of the grocery store.

Nearly everybody in Wickhills did most of their food shopping at the farmer’s market – they were simply too far out in the middle of nowhere for much else. But there were some things you just had to buy in a box.

Roman came around to Mamaw’s side of the car, hovering but trying to look as nonchalant about it as possible.

“I am capable of gettin’ out of my own damn truck, Roman Joshua,” she snapped, a little more vicious than normal.

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he said unconvincingly.

She grumbled darkly, but she was too quiet for Roman to catch what she said.

Roman’s nausea had taken on a whole different tone.

Mamaw had fallen, months ago. He hadn’t been home. She’d had to wait on the kitchen floor until he got back.

Now, she had a bright orange button hanging on a lanyard around her neck. It seemed like every part of her was straining to remind him that she was  _not_ his mother – so much older than all his friends parents.

Where her hair had been a hazy pink when he was a child, streaked equally with red and gray, now it was white as clean linen. She was slower, her steps shaky, every movement hesitant and almost insecure. It made the idea of going to college in the fall and leaving her behind nearly unbearable.

He’d been helping her his whole life – they both knew it. But before, it had been mostly courtesy, politeness born of love. But  _now_ \- now she  _needed_  it. Now she  _couldn’t_  do it herself.

Mamaw  _hated_  it. Hated being reliant, hated feeling like she was weak. And what could Roman say?

That it was okay to ask for help? Okay to not be able to handle everything alone?

Hypocrisy was never a good look on anyone.

As they walked in the door, Roman went towards the carts and Mamaw practically shoulder checked him out of the way, before tossing her cane into one with way more force than was necessary.

“I’ll get the noodles. Go get the flour and sugar, please,” she said. Roman flinched. She was a lot more upset today than he’d thought.

And of course, because the day was not finished with trying to make Roman as uncomfortable as possible, when he turned into the baking aisle, there was Mrs. Waller, standing directly in front of the flour he needed. He could see Patton’s distinctive curls just behind her.

He considered running for the barest moment and immediately felt ridiculous. Patton was his friend, and Roman hadn’t- he hadn’t  _technically_ done anything wrong, right? He hadn’t actually kissed Logan and, the thing with Remy, it- it wasn’t like any of them  _actually_ were-

Well. Roman wasn’t going to run from Patton, regardless.

“Hey, Mrs. Waller,” he said, trying not to make it obvious that he was paying more attention to Patton over her shoulder than he was to her. “Morning, Pat,”

Roman wasn’t sure, but Patton might have tensed up for just a moment – but then he darted around his mother, smiling brightly, and looking for all the world like Roman had made his morning just by showing up to the grocery.

The vice grip of guilt in Roman’s chest  _throbbed_.

“Morning!” said Patton, holding up two packages of cupcake wrappers, “Which one?”

Roman eyed them critically. The first was lavender with white polka dots, the second pink and yellow striped.

“What are you making?” Roman said seriously.

“Cornbread,” said Mrs. Waller, an amused smile on her face.

“Sweet or savory?” Roman countered.

“Sweet, of course,” said Patton.

“Has to be the purple one then,”

“Didn’t I say so, Mama!”

“Fine,” she laughed, “I can admit defeat,”

Patton placed the chosen wrappers into the basket and carefully returned the rejected ones to their spot on the shelf.

“Where’s your gramma?”

Roman winced. “She went to get the noodles and sent me for the four and sugar. Bad day,”

Patton grimaced in sympathy.

“I’ll help you,” he said, and he was already grabbing the flour from in front of his mother before Roman could argue.

And Roman didn’t really want to argue anyway.

With a bag under each of their arms, they left Mrs. Waller in the baking aisle and made their way towards the pasta. Roman waited for Patton to confront him – although what, exactly, he was expecting Patton to say, he wasn’t sure – but Patton didn’t seem bothered by the silence at all. Roman relaxed marginally.

Finally, Patton spoke.

“You look like shit,” said Patton brightly, and Roman was so startled he laughed before he could stop himself.

“And you look unruffled as always,” he giggled. “You’re  _never_ hungover, it’s not fair at all,”

Patton shrugged.

“I drink a lot of water,” he said, like he did every time. Roman and Logan were both sure this couldn’t be the entire story, and spent a significant amount of time trying to crack the code of Patton’s utter immunity to alcohol’s more unpleasant side effects.

“Keep your secrets, Waller, I’ll find you out eventually,”

Patton smiled back, wide enough that his dimples showed, and Roman’s heart lurched.

“I was gonna go to Salvage Garden after we’re done getting groceries. Do you wanna come? I can come get you, so you don’t have to walk with a headache,”

“It wouldn’t be walking, it would be  _crawling_ ,” said Roman, “And why not. I need new shoes,”

“ _Again?”_  said Patton incredulously.

Roman shrugged. He was as baffled as Patton was – for some reason, he seemed to go through shoes twice as fast as other people, no matter how nice of ones he bought. Eventually he decided it was easier to buy them cheap or secondhand, if they were hardly going to last him a few months anyway.

Patton shook his head and opened his mouth to say something else, but then he caught sight of Mamaw and fruitlessly tried to wave at her in spite of the heavy sacks in his arms.

“Hey Ms. Gage!”

“Mornin’ Patton. Outsourcin’ your jobs to yer friends, I see, Roman,”

Roman internally relaxed.

“Patton  _offered_  to help. Unlike you, he sees my value as more than a pack mule,”

“Of course,” said Patton, so seriously that Roman braced himself for whatever awful sentence was about to come out of Patton’s mouth.

“I think you’re very  _valua-mule_ , Roman,”

Mamaw rested her elbows on the cart and wearily put her face in her hands as Roman literally shrieked.

“That was  _horrendous,_ ” he exclaimed,  dropping the flour into the cart, playfully grabbing Patton by the shirt and shaking him gently. “Absolutely horrific. You should be  _ashamed_ ,”

“Patty, sugar, yer killin’ me,” said Mamaw, “Yer gonna put me in the grave. ‘S that what ya want? To put poor ol’ May Gage in the ground?”

Patton hadn’t stopped giggling since he’d said it, and their horror only seemed to make it worse.

“I guess you could say I’ve made a  _grave_  mistake, huh, Ms. Gage?”

“You’re grounded,” she said flatly.

“You can’t ground me,”

“Then I’ll call your Mama and  _she’ll_  ground you,”

“Ground him for what?”

“Hello, Shelley,” said Mamaw, looking over Roman shoulder. When he turned, Mrs. Waller was coming towards them, quizzical smile on her face.

“For being a shameful disgrace is what,” Mamaw continued.

“Puns?”

“Puns,” said Roman flatly.

Mrs. Waller held out her hand and Patton gleefully slapped it in a low five.

“You’re grounded too,” groused Mamaw.

Mrs. Waller practically cackled.

“C’mon, Patty we gotta go,” she said through the last of her giggles, “Goodbye, May, Roman,”

“Yes, yes, goodbye, get outta my sight with yer terrible jokes,” said Mamaw. The two women began to make their way in opposite directions down the aisle.

“I’ll see you at like, um one?” said Patton, quietly “How is one?”

“One’s fine,” said Roman, reaching up to brush his hair out of his face.

Patton’s eyes followed his hand, and something shuttered over his eyes.

He reached out, and for one brief, thrilling moment Roman thought Patton was going to cup his face and kiss him, but then he reached up into Roman’s hair and plucked the sunglasses of his head.

The glasses which, now that Roman was a little more clear-headed, realized were not his.

“I’ll try to remind you to give these back to Remy tomorrow,” said Patton softly, “He never takes them off. He’s probably missing them,”

Roman bit his lip, his throat closing and his stomach roiling with dread.

“Right. Thank you, I- I’m terrible at remembering things like that,”

Patton smiled wryly.

“I don’t think you’re terrible at anything, Roman,”

And as he walked away, Roman had no idea if that was supposed to be a compliment or a condemnation.

* * *

When Roman heard Patton honking in his driveway – not precisely at one but incredibly close, for him – it took several seconds for Roman to understand what he was hearing.

He hadn’t thought Patton was going to come. Whatever Patton had meant about the glasses, whatever he’d been trying to say – Roman was sure Patton wasn’t  _happy_  about it.

He hadn’t changed clothes, but he did have to get his shoes back on. As he scrambled towards the door, trying to hop and put them on at the same time, he had the presence of mind to check and make sure he grabbed his  _own_  sunglasses.

“I’ll be back in a couple hours!” he hollered.

“Thanks for the warning,” Mamaw shouted back.

As he made his way towards the vehicle, Roman wasn’t paying very close attention, so when he opened up the passenger side door of Patton’s truck he let out a yelp of alarm.

He was  _not_  prepared for Logan to be sitting in front of him.

“Good afternoon, Roman,” Logan said woodenly.

The painfully fake smile Roman painted onto his face probably didn’t make him look even slightly casual. He glanced at Patton on Logan’s other side, who was looking idly at the steering wheel, entirely too innocent.

“Hey, slick, wasn’t expecting you to be up,” Roman forced out, “How’d the honey treat you?”

The question hit the air like a car slamming into brick wall.

“Fine, thank you,” said Logan after moment. He undid his seat belt and slid over into the middle seat.

Roman recognized a peace offering – reluctant as it was – when he saw it.

Patton clearly wasn’t oblivious to the tension in the car – he was simply stubbornly ignoring it, asking questions and making small talk like he was blissfully unconcerned with the fact that Roman and Logan had yet to make even the slightest eye contact.

Roman could have screamed.

Salvage Garden was a tiny brown building crammed into the row of nearly identical tiny brown buildings that made up Main Street. The inside was equally cramped; there were dozens of mismatched tables overflowing with antique knick-knacks of every shape and size. Packed in between them was rack after rack of clothes ranging from plain to utterly ostentatious, in varying stages of moth-eaten decay.

It also had a little corner full of soft but absolutely  _hideous_  armchairs crowded around a wooden counter with coffee carafes on it. It was one of their favorite places to hang out.

Or at least, it had been, before their friendship devolved into this _mess._

Logan made a beeline for the coffee, and his back was turned so Roman was sure he hadn’t seen the forlorn look on Patton’s face as he walked away.

Roman forced himself towards the shoe rack on the opposite wall, trying his best not to look too long at Patton’s gutted expression.

Roman and Logan had gotten pretty good at compartmentalizing the various disaster zones their lives had become riddled with. Patton had never quite managed it.

Roman shoved his hands into his jacket pockets to keep himself from picking at the scrapes on his hands in frustration. His hand brushed against something round and – bumpy?

Wondering what bit of junk he’d picked up and then forgot about now, Roman pulled it out and rolled it between his fingers.

It was a walnut, pale brown and wrinkly, a little on the large side. Christmas had been more than three months ago, and that was the last time he’d had walnuts, so he had no idea where he’d gotten it.

He shifted it between his fingers, but when he gave just a bit of pressure to the seam, it popped apart into two halves.

It was hollow, and empty, except for the tiniest bit of yellowed paper curled up inside.

Mechanically, Roman plucked the paper out and unfurled it. In strangely choppy, almost aggressive handwriting, there was written a tiny sentence – no. A  _poem_.

His hands were almost shaking too hard for him to read it, but after a couple of very deep breathes, he stilled enough to read it.

“ _You make the deal, must pay the fee_  
_you know you have no time to flee_  
_seven years of time is long  
__but too late to regret whats already gone”_

Roman’s heart was like a startled horse galloping in his rib cage. Who sent this? The Serpent King? If Roman’s time was up, if they were coming for him soon, why  _warn_  him? He’d never heard of a fairy giving someone a  _courtesy reminder,_  

“Hey, remember were coming for that bit of life you bargained away, be sure to get your affairs in order by Tuesday!”

“Roman?”

Roman shoved the paper and the empty walnut shell into his pocket, turning to Patton and trying for an innocent smile. Judging by the level of alarm on Patton’s face, he hadn’t done a very good job.

“Yeah, what’s up?” he said, with all the casualty of a man bluffing after betting his house.

“Are you okay?”

Roman grinned wider.

“I’m fine, of course. Why are you going Dad-friend on me?”

Patton’s worried look didn’t fade, and his eyebrows pinched together just a tad.

After a pause that went on  _just_  too long to be natural, Patton spoke.

“These are the children’s shoes, Roman,” he said gently.

Roman’s eyes immediately went to the shoe rack. Rows and rows or bright colors and cartoon characters stared back. The men’s shoes were at the other end, all the way on the other side of the store.

Roman swallowed.

“It’s totally not fair that kids get all the fun shoes,” he said, his voice a touch too high. “Maybe  _I_  want Steven Universe sneakers, y’know?”

Patton not only didn’t look convinced, his whole face fell. Roman was almost shaking with the effort not to grab him and hold him and tell him everything, beg for forgiveness but-

Telling Patton meant telling Logan; it would mean telling  _everyone_. Roman knew Patton well enough for that.

And he knew Logan enough to understand that Logan would never,  _ever_  forgive him.

“You know you can  _talk_  to me, don’t you?” said Patton hopelessly, “You can talk to us. We’re- we’re  _best friends,_  Roman, do you even-?”

“Of course!” said Roman desperately, “I know that, Patton I do, of course,”

He took Patton’s hand and held it to his chest, begging his acting skills to work well enough to fool him and also knowing damn well they never had, and probably never would.

“Everything’s fine, Goldilocks,” he lied, “Let’s go sit with Logan,”

Patton glanced at the men’s shoes down the aisle and then dubiously back at Roman.

“I’ll get ‘em in a minute, I just wanna hang out for a bit,”

Patton nodded hesitantly, offering up a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but he didn’t let go of Roman’s hand when it dropped to their sides as they made their way over to the coffee corner.

When Logan saw them, his eyes zeroed in on said held hands, and Roman realized a moment too late that that was probably a bad idea when Logan was almost certainly still pissed at him.

Roman internally kicked himself, furious, unable to understand why he couldn’t manage to stop getting between them for  _ten seconds-_

Well. He probably wasn’t gonna be around to do that much longer. Borrowed time and all that.

That thought was enough to wipe any remaining hesitance from his heart. If today was the last day, this was where he was going to spend it.

If this was all he had left, he was going to cling to it a long as he could.

* * *

Roman was not actually expecting to wake up in his bed the next morning.

He’d thought he’d be too jittery to sleep, but after dinner he’d suddenly gotten incredibly drowsy. At the time, he thought he’d probably been spelled to make him easier to handle, and in his muted panic he’d almost told Mamaw everything.

He’d debated it for almost an hour – would it be worse for her to wake up and find him gone, vanished, evaporated into thin air and never know what happened?

Or worse to know that her only grandson had practically spit in the face of everything she’d taught him about fae and gambled away part of his life? Maybe accidentally  _all of it?_

In the end, cowardice won out, yet again. If the last thing he ever saw on her face was disappointment, he’d never recover.

He’d still nearly given himself away, he thought. He’d hugged her so close, held her so tightly she almost  _must_  have known something was wrong.

But she’d just run hair through his hair, pushing it back from his face, even thought it hadn’t been long enough to obstruct his vision in years. She patted his cheek.

“Ya look like ya gave yer pallbearers the slip,” she said, “Go to sleep,”

“The ‘death-warmed-over’ look is entirely genetic, I assure you,” he said.

And as he’d gone to bed, he’d thought that was okay. That he couldn’t get a better goodbye without telling her it  _was_  goodbye.

But he’d woken up, in his bed, warm if a little groggy from sleep. He sat up, confused.

And then his confusion doubled, because he was – he was covered in  _dirt?_

His boots, the ones he’d bought yesterday were on his feet, and he wasn’t wearing the pajamas he’d gone to bed in. He looked like he’d been rolling around in  _mud_ , and he actually didn’t even  _recognize_ the strange, silvery shirt he was wearing.

Roman was starting to feet just a little bit panicky.

There was a series of rapid knocks at his door

“It’s almost 7:30,” said Mamaw through the door, “Patton’ll be here any minute. Get the hell outta bed,”

“I’m up!” Roman said back. He was expecting her to call him on the fact that his voice was shaking, but she didn’t say anything else at all; he only heard her shuffling footsteps go back down the hall.

He quickly started stripping out of the dirty boots and strange clothes, but- there was something wrong with his hands. They felt almost like they’d fallen asleep, pins and needles pricking him, but nowhere else on his arms.

He examined them closer, and to his astonishment, found there  _were_ pins and needles in his hands. Or at least, tiny slivers of something sharp and shiny.

He began to pick them out as quickly as possible, they were so smooth it was almost impossible to grip them, and when he finally got them out he had a little handful of what looked like pointy glitter, clear and sparkly and-

Like glass. Little shards of  _glass_.

Roman stared at them, frozen in shock.

There was no way. There was  _no_  way. he’d tried everything, he’d tried for  _years_ , and  _nothing_  had ever worked-

Roman jerked into action, dumping the shards into the top drawer of his beside table before throwing on jeans and the first sweatshirt his hands touched. He bolted down the stairs and swooped in to kiss Mamaw on the cheek as quickly as possible – barely registering that, again, she seemed unperturbed by his strange behavior – and booked it for the door.

But as he was jamming on his shoes, he heard the honk of Patton’s truck outside.

“ _Shit_ ,” he spat.

He’d have to check after school, which meant the whole day was going to be agony.

Roman grabbed his bag and started across the yard, footsteps heavy. Patton was smiling at him out the driver’s side window and waving.

Half a dozen feet from Patton’s car, a  _screeching_  yowl broke through the air, and Roman nearly jumped out of his socks. Patton had mirrored him on the other side of the glass.

Roman turned toward the sound, and there was Dizzy, pacing, her fur bristling and practically vibrating with the growl in her throat.

“Uh, hey, Dizzy-cat. How’d you get outside?”

Dizzy only growled in response. She skittered backwards, sideways, towards the treeline and then paused and yowled again.

Roman’s hands shook.

Maybe- Maybe if he was very fast.

But he’d  _have_  to explain, and how could he explain the dirt and the strange clothes and the  _glass_  without them jumping on the fact that he didn’tactually  _have_  an explanation?

He gestured for Patton to roll down the window. Patton made a curious face, but complied. Logan leaned around him to peer out as well.

“I- I have a strange feeling,” said Roman, which was not technically a lie, “And Dizzy’s acting real weird. I think- I need to check on the clearing,”

Patton brightened, which Roman expected, but Logan suddenly looked- almost  _panicked._

“If we delay to long we will be late,” he said firmly, “We don’t have ti-”

He choked.

“See, we’ve got plenty of time!” said Roman, even though he felt like an ass for using that against Logan. “It’ll just take a second,”

Logan scowled, but they both complied and got out of the car.

It wasn’t strictly necessary for them to hold hands all the way there, but Roman was not above stealing affection wherever he could get it.

They looped, following Dizzy’s still puffed up and agitated form, once, twice and then the clearing came into view and Roman sighed in relief.

But both Patton and Logan tensed up instantly.

“What? what’s wrong?”

“The clearing,” said Patton, “It’s there,”

“Uh, yeah?”

“Roman, I can  _see it_ ,”

It took a moment for Roman to register that.

They’d never been able to see it. Not until he pulled them in. It had always been some kind of strange pocket dimension only he could access.

“We need to leave,” said Logan vehemently.

“Are you  _kidding_  what if something’s wrong, what if he’s hurt?” demanded Patton, and before Roman could tighten his grip on Patton’s hand and stop him, Patton had sprinted towards the clearing.

Logan gave a very out-of-character screech of alarm, and they both sped after him.

When they broke through the treeline, Patton was standing stock-still, hand over his mouth and his eyes round as quarters.

It was easy to tell why.

There wasn’t a single spider in the clearing – not the faintest glimmer to suggest any of them were hiding somewhere in the grass or the leave of the trees.

But the most obvious thing, was that the casket in the center was  _empty._

The white satin the fairy had laid on was pristine, the base untouched. But surrounding the gilded metal and polished wood was a near-perfect circle of shattered crystal.

“He’s gone,” said Roman, pointlessly.

“We  _need_. To  _leave!”_  snarled Logan.

“We have to  _find_  him!” Patton exclaimed. “He’s- its been ages, he probably doesn’t know what a  _car_  is, the forest probably looks different, he could get lost-”

“Then let him!” Logan shouted, “He is not our responsibility!”

“He’s our  _friend_!”

Logan made an inarticulate, utterly enraged noise, before he twitched with his whole body and something closed off in his expression.

“Three times I am permitted to warn you,” he said, and Roman took two steps back before he could stop himself. Logan’s voice had taken on a strange, almost lilting quality.

“Your prince is a crow before battle – he will bring nothing but ruin in his wake. Walk away from this place and leave him to his fate,”

“Did you just  _slant rhyme?_ ” Roman said, a little hysterical.

Patton looked equally stunned, but his anger hadn’t cooled.

“He’s been trapped for who knows how long. And- ‘leave him to his  _fate?’_ You’re telling me you know someone might hurt him and you  _still_  want to leave him alone?”

Logan pulled at his hair in frustration.

“Twice more I am permitted to warn you,” he said, bordering on desperation, “There is nothing for you here and the prince will not be kind-hearted after being imprisoned so long. Leave this place, return to our life, and do not involve yourself in what shall be brought.

Roman considered telling Logan he was  _certain_ he was already  _super involved._  But he was a little busy wondering if- if he was maybe going to have to fight him.

“And- and what is  _this?_ ” said Patton, his voice cracking, “This- this prophesying you’re doing? How- how can I know you’re being genuine about this when you- you’ve  _obviously_ been hiding stuff! A lot of stuff, Logan!”

“Patton,  _please_ ,” Logan begged.

“Please  _what?”_

Logan closed his eyes. He looked pained and utterly miserable.

“Only once more am I permitted to warn you,” he said, his voice almost normal but tinged with a note of absolute agony, “I beg you listen to me; I would not lead you astray or into harm. I am not trying to hurt you, but there are things that  _are,”_

Patton stared.

“Why?” he demanded.

“Why what?” said Logan, and when he heard his own voice returned to normal his whole body relaxed.

“Why is this a bad idea? How do you know all this?”

Logan jawed worked back and forth.

“I- I am sorry. I can not talk about that,”

Patton wilted. The he began to shake, and then he threw up his hands in frustration.

“You can’t talk about it!” he said, all hurt and fake brightness, “Of course! Just like Roman can’t talk about it-”

Roman flinched.

“-Just like we all can’t talk about it, it being  _anything!_ ”

“Patton-” said Roman.

“Nope! Nopsie!” said Patton, and the false cheer in his voice was cracking, giving way to a croaking voice, his eyes filling with tears. “It’s fine! Everything’s fine and wonderful and perfect and nothing’s wrong because if you just pretend nothing’s wrong it’ll eventually be true, right!”

His breath hitched and he pressed his heels to his eyes.

“Fine, Logan. I’m going to the car. You two can not talk, and when we’re all done not talking we can go to school and just keep not talking forever!”

He stormed out of the clearing, and he was even out of sight before Roman heard him burst into tears.

When Roman looked over at Logan, he had his head in his hands and he was taking deep, measured breaths.

“Are you okay?”

“Subjective,” Logan snapped.

“Yeah, I  _know_ , Clever-not, I’m asking  _you_ , if  _you_ , subjectively, are okay,”

Logan didn’t answer.

Hesitantly, because Logan had been acting  _really_  weird and Roman wasn’t sure what he might do right now if startled, Roman stepped towards him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I know- I know you’re just trying to keep him safe,”

“Correct and yet off the mark as  _always,_ ” said Logan nastily.

Roman scowled. “Why wouldn’t you-”

“ _just_  him, Roman? You think this is  _just_  about Patton and his pathological need to be responsible for the emotional state of every being he comes into contact with? Because it could, possibly, also be about your insistenceon playing the hero at every opportunity, leaving the rest of us to patch you up afterwards!”

“Well what about you?” Roman demanded, suddenly furious, “What about your cryptic little song just now? Where did you learn to talk like  _that,_ because I’m pretty sure we haven’t covered ‘damning prophecies’ in English yet!”

Logan mouth screwed up in fury.

He opened it again to speak – and nothing came out. His lips moved but there was no sound.

Logan’s face crumpled, and then, after a moment, smoothed into hopeless resignation.

He held up three fingers, turned, and walked away.

Roman stood and watched him go, surrounded by shattered glass.

**Author's Note:**

> forgive me. or dont, and come yell at me in my  inbox 


End file.
